Contemporary Lyrical
by JinnySkeans
Summary: And kisses are blown and roses are thrown and Sasuke just stares. She's art in its purest form.


Sasuke's quiet as he takes a seat in the crowded auditorium.

Not in the front, not in the back. Sort of off to the side, out of the way, but still there.

It isn't his typical Saturday afternoon. Normally one might find him at the gym, maybe working on his car, studying for the SATs. Maybe hanging out with his friends, if Naruto was persuasive enough to convince him to come along on whatever asinine adventure they'd concocted in their boredom. But here? Unless you saw him sitting there, alone, of his own volition, you'd never believe it.

But here he is.

He knows he attracts a fair amount of attention. With his sharp features, stature, trademark arrogant swagger, everyone knows an Uchiha when they see one. And he's alone here, surrounded on all sides by judges, talent scouts, overenthusiastic families, teachers, and the like, and with his arms folded, as unobtrusive as he can be, he knows he sticks out like a sore thumb all the same.

It's raining outside; he can hear it with his proximity to the exit doors on his left. He focuses on that, instead of the curious stares he's getting from the other spectators who have gathered in droves to witness this event. He listens to the rain and glances briefly at the program in his hands, and sees her name at the very bottom, the last to perform.

The houselights dim and the audience breaks out in applause. Having never been to a dance competition before, Sasuke isn't sure how they go, and he doesn't clap with the rest of them as the emcee steps into the spotlight in the middle of the stage.

"Welcome to Konoha Grand Dance Competition!" says the emcee happily, followed by uproarious cheers from the audience. Sasuke watches apathetically, black eyes taking in the emcee's thin mustache and effeminate hand gestures. There really is no place on Earth less suited to a guy like him than where he's sitting right now.

So he tunes out the rest of the introductory speech and listens to the rain and waits for them to call her name.

* * *

There are 39 performances.

Sasuke watches them all without really knowing what to look for, what makes each dancer unique and what's good and what's not.

This is something he doesn't know about, and without really meaning to, he finds himself learning. Between 39 performances, he learns that there's more than one style of dance. He learns that backflips are not the hallmarks of cheerleaders. He learns that pointed toes are a good thing; so are straight knees. He learns and learns about this strange art form that's never meant anything to him before her.

Sasuke can gauge by the audience's reaction where each dancer's skill level rests, or at least that dancer's popularity, and from this, at least, he can distinguish between the really excellent dancers and the ones who are just so-so. Number 15 has incredible technique, according to the dance coach sitting behind him. Number 21 forgot the middle section of her dance. Number 28 needs work on her aerials, if the mother sitting two rows in front of him is to be believed. Number 34 was trained by one of the best choreographers in the country.

By no means is he a talent expert, especially not in this foreign field, but when it's time for her to take the stage, he feels that perhaps he can gauge her talent on some shallow level.

When the emcee calls her name at last, the crowd reaction is instantaneous, which arouses Sasuke's interest. There are cheers, real ones, not only from her dance coach, a striking blonde woman sitting near the front, and not only from her friends, who have yet to see he's in the auditorium; everyone, unanimously, cheers when Sakura Haruno takes the stage. It isn't the polite, lackluster smattering of applause each dancer receives when she steps into the limelight.

It would appear, Sasuke realizes, as he sits marginally straighter in his seat, that she's already made quite a name for herself. And that's where his thought processes come to a screeching halt, because in movements too graceful to be real, Sakura drops into a position in the middle of the stage, directly in the spotlight, and Sasuke can't do anything but stare.

She's not dressed in a costume as fancy as Dancer Number 4, or as revealing as Dancer Number 22. Instead, she's wearing a crème-colored leotard (a word he's learned from the dance coach three seats to his left) that's three shades darker than her porcelain skin. Onstage, she's a vision, long legs straight and pink hair tied into a sleek, perfect ponytail. There's no makeup on her face. Her eyes slide closed like she's lost in some dreamless slumber, and the music begins to play.

Sasuke knows almost nothing from dance, beyond what snippets of untrustworthy information he's gleaned from the audience around him. He knows that pointed toes are a good thing, and not much else.

But he knows when he looks at Sakura that she is talent itself.

And beyond that, he knows that her talent comes from within her, because this is her greatest joy.

Her eyes snap open and the stormy green overwhelms him like a tsunami, even though she's a hundred feet away. She doesn't look at him, doesn't know he's there, and as she moves and flips and bends and stretches in ways he's never thought humanly possible, he sees in every emotion on her face that she is doing what she loves.

She's on a different level now. Not just from her competition, but from members of the human race. She flips three times in a row without using her hands, and spins so quickly and so flawlessly that he can't even count the rotations, and no human girl has ever moved the way she's moving. She's out of this world, she's supernatural.

There's strength in her dance, but there is also vulnerability. In fact, he doesn't know that he's ever seen her so bare, so exposed, never in their lives. She's a sweeping hailstorm of contradictions, of power and weakness, of happiness and sorrow, of speed and fluidity and she's moving like water, transient and each sweep of her leg reminds him of the swell of the ocean's tide.

She's always been beautiful, and now, translating emotions to physical movements, she's almost terrifying in her beauty. Sasuke can't breathe, he can't hear the music anymore, and it's only when Sakura stops moving, when she's collapsed into a pose in the middle of the stage, arm held aloft towards some heavenly object he can't see the way she can, that he realizes he's on his feet.

So is everyone else in the auditorium, and then, he hears the deafening applause. A standing ovation, the only one out of 40 performances, and the cheers are explosive. The judges speak quickly into their tape recorders, write furiously on their scoresheets, while kisses are blown and roses are thrown and Sasuke just _stares._ She's art in its purest form, and how has he only seen this now?

Sakura smiles at the audience, like a goddess granting her lowly mortal adorers some small token of her favor, and she rises to her feet and dances offstage and it feels like a _dream_ to Sasuke.

To Sasuke Uchiha, who has never seen art or dance or beauty or magic before, to Sasuke Uchiha who has a narrow view on the world and little patience for frivolity, to Sasuke Uchiha who would never be caught dead at a dance competition on a rainy Saturday afternoon, it's all a dream.

A dream starring a girl who can weave a story with her body, who can paint a picture with music and who can translate emotions into motions.

He doesn't need to stay for the awards ceremony. He knows without needing to hear it that Sakura will win first place.

And she does.

Wearing a track jacket with her dance company's name emblazoned on the back, and her hair loose now that she's no longer competing and a blinding smile as she accepts her trophy, Sakura wins the prize and his heart, for the thousandth time.

And as she says a polite thank you and accepts one more round of applause, her eyes are drawn to a seat in the audience. Not in the front or the back, sort of off to the side. Near the exits, and to a boy sitting alone.

And his eyes meet hers, the eyes of the fairy girl too ethereal to be real, and in the darkness of the crowded theater, she finds him like she always does.

* * *

It's the last place anyone would expect him to be, except _she's_ there.

And when she smiles even brighter, a smile just for him, Sasuke knows he could never be anywhere else.

**Note..** Hi, everybody! Hit quite the creative wall lately. Between jackass cyber vigilantes and being on vacation (JAMAICA, Y'ALL GET AT ME) I really haven't had much inspiration. And you know what inspires me, is dance, and I had to throw this shallow little thing out there: I know the exhilaration of a standing ovation and the even-better exhilaration of looking out into the audience and seeing the boy of your dreams when you weren't expecting him.

So there you have it. A drabble to hopefully get my creative juices flowing. Hope you're having a beautiful night! (Any other dancers out there?)

Xoxo Daisy


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